


there are more things (in Heaven and Earth)

by nausicaa_of_phaeacia



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Emotional, F/M, How Do I Tag, IN SPACE!, Post-Season/Series 04, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-23 02:18:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11393319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nausicaa_of_phaeacia/pseuds/nausicaa_of_phaeacia
Summary: She‘s twenty-nine, but she hasn't yet learned how to smoke properly, she's just pretending.





	there are more things (in Heaven and Earth)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zauberer_sirin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/gifts).



> For zauberer_sirin's birthday! Sorry it's a little bit late, I blanked all day. ♥
> 
> It turned out almost a little blue, but I hope you like it! (It's not sad. Nothing happens.)

She‘s twenty-nine, but she hasn't yet learned how to smoke properly, she's just pretending, drawing her breath through the tobacco, keeping it between her tongue and her teeth, and pursing her lips as she exhales a small cloud. 

This bar, it's the place that looked the most familiar up here, most like the bars on Earth she would sometimes choose to sit at for a few hours of the night, even if it was only to nurse a small cappuccino because that's what she could afford. 

It's ridiculous, she feels homesick, even if she knows this is only temporary, even if it's not a place she misses, not even the atmosphere, because this might not be like a bar on Earth, but it still holds the same spirit: faint melancholia, laced with a subtle hint of alcohol in the air, mixed with a melody from the jukebox that's horribly out of fashion. 

A few times tonight, she briefly considers crying, considers it as if it were always a conscious and rational decision, and decides she's going to decline her own offer. It wouldn't be fitting to cry, not when she's finally made it here, not when her cover isn't blown yet.

"You smoke," he says, and it's almost a timid question.  
She doesn't need to turn around to know it's him.  
"A little," she says, and she knows he can hear her smile. He sits down on a stool beside her, briefly raises his hand to make an order, to gesture at hers.  
"You made it," she remarks, and it sounds the slightest bit like she can't believe it.

" _You_ made it," he smiles shyly.  
"I'm so glad you got the message." It's not really a reply, but it's what she feels.  
"I wouldn't have made it out without it."  
She says, "I know," and she finally turns towards him, accidentally making their elbows touch, and he can see that's not what she means, she means more. She means _I'm glad you're here_ , she means _It was horrible without you_ , and he smiles at her as a reply.

"You look like Rachael," he says after taking a sip from his drink.  
Daisy smiles. She looks very grateful, considers that a compliment, looking like Sean Young with the dark hair and the melancholy blue smoke.  
"Thank you," she says, and she wants to say more, but she isn't sure how to say it, isn't sure if she's supposed to say anything else, especially here. 

She gives it another moment of thought, then just puts her hand on his. She knows it's because he doesn't dare to that he doesn't look at her, but she can feel his heartbeat, and that's enough. After so many months, that's enough.

They stay like that for a long while, each only sipping at their drinks, Daisy smoking another cigarette or two, and they leave separately, Daisy first, without giving him another look. He follows her less than a minute later, careful not to miss a step as he follows her upstairs, turning around the same corners she did.

She unlocks the door, holds it for him, careful not to let anyone see them. Behind them, the door clicks shut almost without a noise, and it feels like they need to whisper. Daisy carefully slides out of her coat, removes her shoes by pressing her heels against each other. 

He mirrors her, hangs his jacket on one of the hooks, revealing the dark uniform with his number stitched onto it, kicks off his shoes. They both tiptoe, and if this weren't so unreal, if it didn't feel as though she were just dreaming it, again, they could be giggling about it.

The shades are drawn, and the faint neon light from outside barely allows him to make her out against the wall, but she stands there, waiting for him. He steps into the room as if he were overstepping an invisible boundary. She nods almost imperceptibly, and he steps closer, letting the neon light draw a line onto his face.

The silence feels like they could drown in it any minute, and Daisy is about to scrape together a few words, maybe explain how she got here, maybe explain how they are going to get back, but he speaks first.

"Thank you," he says, his voice all coarse, like this is something improbable, like he would never have expected her to come and get him. She's about to disagree, but her eyes meeting his is enough, he understands, or at least he hopes he does.

"I missed you, Daisy," he whispers, and she wants to cry, tries to reason with herself, because this isn't a good moment, but maybe it is, because he hugs her, and her tears flow into his shoulder, or maybe the crook of his neck. After a moment, his hand caresses her hair, up and down and up, and she thinks her heart might just stop, she thinks this might be the first time.

She almost can't bring herself to draw back a little to look at him, one or two tears still in her eyelashes, making him look a little blurry at the edges. It almost takes too long until she says it, the moment almost passes, her chest almost expands too much.  
"You look like ... Coulson," she says, and he knows this is the best thing she could ever have said, making him smile at her, making her smile back.  
"Thank you."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Tell me what you think :)
> 
> The title's from _Hamlet_. Obviously.  
>  (Act I, Scene 5.)


End file.
